Control
by Fading Grace
Summary: Vetinari is always in control. VV. Rated M for a reason. Oneshot, probably... nope, continued.
1. Awkward

Vimes had no idea how this had happened.

He was still working on believing it.

But, yes, that certainly _looked_ like the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork beneath him. And, if Vetinari wasn't nude, he was certainly doing a very good impression of it.

And if Vimes wasn't still moving with that single-minded pace that had guided many a man through all of life, well, he'd be buggered. Or Vetinari would.

Again.

Not an entirely discouraging thought.

All he really knew for half-certain was that he had been yelling at Vetinari – their arguments only ever went one way, and were only ever settled in the completely opposite direction – and then the man had said, "Would you assist me with a problem?"

And that had… somehow ended up here.

Vimes had largely not been paying attention to the carefully detailed and cited explanation, but he had gleaned enough to know Vetinari had decided that it had been too long since he'd had anything but a stick up his-

Vimes firmly put a clamp on that thought, or else he might start laughing hysterically from the absurdity. It had happened before at inopportune times, and Vimes couldn't really think of a worse time to start laughing than while in bed with… _the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork._

He certainly could've done worse.

But this was far and away the weirdest sex ever in the history of the Disc. That included gods, and Offler had set the bar for ludicrousness quite high by having his latest reincarnation come in the form of a piece of luggage with a small bottle of olive oil inside.

And, all the while, Vimes was still moving. He could have given himself a medal, if he knew where to find whoever had been behind the controls all this time.

And then there was a sudden tightness, and then Vetinari was just… finished.

It took Vimes five whole seconds to even realize what had happened. "Um? Are you… um, done?"

Vetinari waved a hand patiently. "By all means, you may take your time."

This had all the amorous affect of a bucket of cold water.

"How the hell did… Never mind this entire situation, but would you please explain to me how the hell you just came without a single sound?"

Seeing as how Vimes had given up on his own elusive goal, Vetinari extricated himself and retrieve what looked suspiciously like a moist towelette to clean himself up. He explained, "In the Guild, there was a strict rule in place that no ward should be caught making a sound after curfew. This was clearly a challenge for the students to do whatever they wanted, so long as they were absolutely silent."

Vimes was floundering. To avoid drowning in internal voices insisting that at least one of them had cracked, he focused completely on this topic. "Couldn't they have meant that you were supposed to just… sleep?"

"Clearly, you do not understand the mindset that rules do not apply to assassins so long as there is a loophole and a way to step through it with dignity."

Vimes scowled and his overstressed mind edited out the sight of Ventiari dressing with those sharp, short little movements and why, exactly, he had been naked. "Fine, but what does that have to do…"

"Either my adolescence was going to kill me, or I needed to be able to attend to myself in silence," Vetinari said simply.

Vimes shrugged. At least there wasn't any of that post-_sex with the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork_ awkward search for a conversation topic, but this was… "Or you could have… left the room. Wouldn't sneaking out have been easier than trying not to make a single sound during something like _that_?"

Vetinari's fingers traced the proper creases in his suit, straightening them out and giving his clothes that un-lived-in look that could usually only be achieved by not living in something. "That would be cheating."

"Right. Of course." A long pause as Vetinari found his shoes at the end of the bed, where he had set them upright and next to each other. "How, exactly, did you manage it?"

Vetinari said, "The urge to make sounds can be controlled. Not immediately, of course, but after the first time I knew what to expect."

Vimes gaped at him. "You… you're saying that you consciously built up an immunity to orgasms?"

"Otherwise I might have found myself at a disadvantage."

Vimes pinched the bridge of his nose. That was… Think about the mindset, what kind of person hated to be out of control so much that they didn't even during sex –

_– Sex with the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, Sam, thanks for joining us _–

_– _That was actually really terrifying. In a way.

Vetinari stopped at the door. "I meant to ask. Will there be repetition of this, would you say? I will have to schedule accordingly."

_– He just decided that he needed to be laid and elected you because… well, no, no 'because', you were right there and have a habit of agreeing to do things when you're not paying attention…_

But Vimes harbored a deep and persistent hatred. Not specifically for the Patrician, but it had become focused on him after Vimes had had frequent contact with him. And it was playing a little imagined sequence of the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork uncomfortable, outside of his comfort zone…

Seeing as Vimes had never even come close to inflicting that on Vetinari, this way might be his only chance. Ever.

And he was right, this time had been really, really weird and not at all how sex is supposed to go, but next time Vimes would know what to expect and maybe might be able to take control. Which he should have been able to do this time, being the one on top…

He said, "Yes. Yes, there will."

Vetinari came very near to shrugging – his shoulders flexed, just slightly, not enough to really be a movement but close enough to count.

And then Vimes was alone.

Right. This was fine. An opportunity to win against that bastard.

Now all Vimes needed to do was figure out a way to make Vetinari have such good sex that he would no longer be in control.

Er… how hard could it be?


	2. Confident

Yeah... I got ideas for this. And thus, a second chapter.

* * *

This time, Vimes was confident.

Or at least keeping up with the conversation.

Vetinari had given him very clear instructions: do not schedule any appointments after the weekly report that Vimes was required to deliver personally.

He was informed of this at the conclusion of said report.

He might have known.

Well, now there was nothing for it but to follow Vetinari down the same corridor to the same guest room and the same bed.

So far, his brain had only tried to implode twice.

A new record!

At this rate, he might eventually have enough of a tolerance for –

- s_ex with the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork_ –

- this to be manageable.

Three times.

Vimes would take what he could get.

But this time he was determined to knock that – that bloody patient frown off of _the Patrician of Ankh Morpork_'s face.

Four. Still doing better than last time.

He was even paying enough attention to keep a competent rhythm all by himself.

So Vimes relied on his left arm to stop him from actually resting on top of Vetinari and reached his right hand down.

It took a while to sort out which bits were Vimes and which were Vetinari.

Vimes was slow to acknowledge that a large fraction of the people on the bed was Vimes himself.

But he finally found what he was looking for and gave it a few experimental tugs. It was hard to convince his mind that, despite past experience, Vimes' hand was not on Vimes'… bits, and so it was normal that turning his wrist like so would not usher in the expected personal sensations.

It was with great self-restraint and no small touch of regret that Vimes kept from giving into the urge to pull until he _did_ feel something.

His concentration was broken by Vetinari clearing his through. "What are you doing?" he asked, with barely more curiosity than disinterest.

Vimes choked, even though he should have expected this. "Well, my lord, it is my intention to pleasure you," he admitted with more pomp than he had ever moved himself to muster.

Vetinari blinked. "Why?"

Vimes sighed and let go. "Because I'm an incredibly generous man."

"It isn't necessary."

"Yes, I know," Vimes said.

Vetinari considered this.

Vimes amused himself by varying his pace.

At length, Vetinari asked, "Were you attempting to bring me to orgasm more quickly? I could oblige you, if you are running behind schedule."

Vimes was prepared to tell Vetinari exactly what to do with his schedule – once there was room, of course – and then there was that same tightness as before and Vimes stopped.

"My lord, I swear to whatever gods are laying bets on this that if you just came by sheer force of will –"

He didn't finish the threat. There were probably laws against threatening to do harmful things to a Patrician's twig-and-two-berries.

Then again, there were also laws against _the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork_ – five times – having convenient-sex-by-appointment with a married man whose payroll came under his direct authority.

Vimes had checked.

Granted, the subject had been covered in a broad stroke, but the point had been carried by all of the exclamation marks.

Vetinari said, "Don't delay yourself on my account."

Vimes hung his head, letting his hairline rest on Vetinari's sternum.

The warmth of him startled Vimes. It really shouldn't have, since other areas were still giving him a splendid re-enactment of the inside of a kiln.

There was even a pulse, in the hollow below where Vetinari's ribcage knitted together in a small knurl.

Three seconds passed.

Vetinari asked, "Are you going to finish? If not –"

Vimes demanded suddenly, "You really did, didn't you? You came because you decided to come."

Looking at that pulse, Vimes realized that it was steady.

Be-beat. Be-beat. Be-beat.

Like the pulse of the city.

Not like a person coming down after any sexual activity. Not even like Vimes' own, which was stil in transition from flittering to death.

Death by awkward sex.

He nearly laughed.

Vetinari moved an inch, fully expecting Vimes to allow him up now that he had decided to do so.

Vimes rolled off of him, more frustrated than ever before – and in more senses of the word than one.

Forget the awkward sex, not finishing so often couldn't be helping anything.

Vetinari was getting dressed again, with the same stiff movements and the same distant frown and the same goddamned _control_ over everything.

He said, "It is simply an instance of mind over matter."

Vimes didn't dignify this with a response.

When Vetinari was at the door, he looked over his shoulder to where Vimes lay, petulantly glaring a hole in the ceiling.

"And you needn't address me as 'my lord' under these circumstances. It strikes one as slightly inappropriate, wouldn't you agree?"

_That _turned petulance into rage, and Vimes shot up to give said rage better footing from which to launch itself into Vetinari's jugular.

But the bastard had already gone.

Vimes flopped back down.

He needed a drink.

* * *

It always surprises me how hard it is to write awkward sex without making it overly explicit.

But at least I made an effort...


End file.
